


Running with the wolves

by Maracuya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Post - Quiet Isle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2090367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for the recent Comment Fic Meme on LJ (http://sansa-sandor.livejournal.com/266810.html).</p>
<p>The prompt was: "Sandor discovers that Sansa is a warg."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sandor and Sansa are travelling back to the north on their own. Sansa's behaviour is increasingly weird and some things don't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running with the wolves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Westeroswolf](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Westeroswolf).



> Disclaimer: I do not own ASOIAF. I do not profit from this story, nor would I  
> ever seek to do so. All credit for characters and setting to GRRM.

The first time Sandor noticed the little bird's hands and feet tremble in her sleep he believed she was having a nightmare and patted her shoulder awkwardly. However, she showed no reaction, nor did she wake up.

„Does she have some sort of fit?” he asked himself and became anxious.

With more energy, he patted her again.

Suddenly, Sansa curled her lips, showed him her teeth, opened her eyes and snarled at him like a predator. The next moment, she closed her eyes again and went back to sleep. The trembling had stopped for the time being.

Sandor was dumbfounded nevertheless, and still a bit worried.

It took him a while to get back to sleep himself. There was a root in his back, which he could feel through the bedroll. Couldn't be helped – there were so many more in these dense northern woods.

At least the winter was over, so he wouldn't freeze his balls off right away. Hopefully, they'd make it to Winterfell without the little bird falling ill.

At least they had found a secluded little cave for the night, so Sandor didn't have to hold a vigil for once. He was dog tired after all the previous travelling, to be honest, and his old wound hurt, so he had been limping all day whenever he had left Stranger's back.

Yet, despite all the discomfort, he finally managed to relax and to drift off to sleep again.

 

The next night, it happened again. This time, Sandor was wide awake because of his vigil. At first, he simply heard Sansa's slow, deep breathing... but then, she uttered a tiny growl. Right afterwards, her hands and feet started to twitch again. Just when he wanted to wake her it stopped all of a sudden – and Sansa snapped into the air and then licked her mouth.

Sandor was completely confused now and scratched his head.

He had seen this behaviour around sleeping animals.

“The little bird must have really weird dreams,” he mused.

Sansa licked her mouth again, it was clearly visible in the moonlight.

Damn.

Sandor's cock stirred, his thoughts started to wander dangerous paths, and he got even harder. Hurriedly, he made for the bushes and rubbed himself to a quick release.

In the distance, he could hear some wolves growl.

Two hours later, he woke Sansa for her shift. She was drowsy, but looked very content.

“Did you have sweet dreams, little bird?” Sandor asked.

“I think so, but I can't really remember.”

“Are you all right?”

“Oh yes, sure, why do you ask?”

Sandor shrugged.

“Nothing. Just curious.”

Those were the last words they exchanged before slumber claimed Sandor himself.

 

The next day, while they were riding further north, Sandor asked the little bird again whether she had had any strange dreams lately.

"Not dreams, no," Sansa answered, but there was an edge to her voice that told Sandor that she was omitting something and didn't want to talk about it.

"But you swear you're feeling quite well, little bird?"

"Yes, oh yes. It's just that so many things have happened in the past. I think my mind still has to learn how cope with it all."

Sandor nodded.

"Sure, I can understand that. If anyone has ever been stuck in shit up to the neck it's you."

Sansa flinched slightly, but didn't reprimand him as she would have done in the past. Nevertheless, Sandor was relieved that there was still a bit of the girl in her who he had known in the capital.

She had changed. Physically, yes, of course - she was older now, her female curves more pronounced and alluring, and her beauty even more breathtaking. But there was more to her than met the eye. Sansa had learned how to watch and to endure and to survive in King's Landing. At the Vale she had learned... how to think, to analyze - and how to react.

No, Sansa wasn't a naive little girl any more, and Sandor had to admit that only one part of him was content about it. The other one was strangely sad.

Well, what had he expected? She had been wedded and bedded by the Imp, and maybe he didn't know any details about her life at the Eyrie, but he just knew that something had happened there. After all, Littlefucker was dead, and Sandor was dying from curiosity with regard to how it had happened.

Yes, Sansa wasn't innocent any more, and when they had departed from the Quiet Isle, where she had turned up all on her own and had found him amongst the silent brothers, she had even admitted as much.

They had discovered Stranger - not Driftwood any more - in a paddock having his way with a newly-arrived mare and Sansa had simply shrugged and declared: "Oh, I know about mating now. That bit can't shock me any more. I've left Lady Sansa behind, like you have the Hound."

There was more truth in the admission about her identity than Sandor wanted to know: the little bird even had to learn to react to her name again. Sometimes, she responded more directly to the pet name he had given her.

 

Well. Things had become more complicated for the two of them in many ways. Sandor hadn't forgotten the episode with the dagger during the Battle of the Blackwater - and he still remembered the song as well.  
In some ways, he had become calmer on the Quiet Isle. Had left the Hound behind indeed. And he was limping now.

 

So all in all, they had to get to know each other again.

But one thing had remained: Sandor's wish to be close to the little bird. Things were even worse now, because they were so close during their voyage.

He couldn't keep his body from reacting when she was sitting in front of him on Stranger's bare back, her body inevitably touching his, and he knew Sansa noticed what was going on with his lower sections. However, she didn't shy away from him. Ah, but neither did she invite him to... do some more.

Of course she wouldn't.

He was still the scarred, disgusting old dog, not fit to place his muzzle onto her knees. Or elsewhere.

Sandor was having weird fantasies of late, of things he wanted to do with Sansa - things he had never wanted to do with another woman. It was unnerving and irksome.

The little bird clearly noticed his frustration.

Small wonder then that her sleep was troubled.

 

The next night, they were lucky, because they found a dry cave that was even big enough for Stranger. Of course, they wouldn't find an inn here in the depopulated wilderness of the north. The long, harsh winter as well is the undead creatures had taken their toll amongst the living.

 

Most wights were gone now with the upcoming spring, but there was still the odd monster to be found. So far, they had only come across one of them, and while Sandor's sword had hacked the being into little pieces Sansa had burned the twitching remains with their camp fire.

 

Sandor had been against coming to the north so soon, but the little bird had insisted, and she was at an age and in a position now where it was impossible to wrap her up in a carpet like he had done in the past with Arya.

 

Anyway - though Sandor was always on guard his relief about having found a cave for the night was palpable. Sansa was in high spirits as well. The hardships of their voyage didn't seem to matter a lot to her - in that way, she had changed a lot from her former self.

"Alayne didn't have too many luxuries - especially no liberty. So I actually do possess more than she did."

That was her comment, accompanied by a shrug.

"The pretty little bird is happy to spread her wings now, is that the way of it?"

"Yes, Sandor. Let's fly back to Winterfell. I know now where my nest should be."

 

When it came to nesting, Sandor didn't think of Winterfell yet. It would take ages until the castle would be restored. No, for the time being his "nest" was his bedroll, and since Sansa said she wasn't tired yet she took over the first vigil after they had shared a scanty dinner. Sandor had leaned towards being gaunt, but now, after the winter, he was even more so, and the little bird was too thin as well, but they were alive, that was all that counted. Perhaps, they should stay here for another day to hunt properly and to regain some strength. Well, they'd decide about this in the morning.

 

It didn't take Sandor long to fall asleep, and all too soon he was woken by Sansa, because he had to take over. The already heavy-lidded little bird slipped into her bedroll and was asleep within moments.

 

For an hour or two everything went well. But then, shortly before dawn, it happened again: Sansa started to toss and to turn, and suddenly, she uttered a little whine. she sounded upset and... strangely needy. Another whine that sounded more wolfish than human.

Sandor scratched his good cheek. This was really getting mysterious - in a way he didn't like.

After a moment, he knelt, stooped over her and started to shake Sansa really roughly to make sure she'd wake up. It took her some seconds, but finally, her eyes snapped open, or at least that was what he thought in the darkness.

"Little Bird, what on earth is going on with you?" he growled, angry and worried.

"Sandor!" she gasped, but somehow, there was still an echo of what he had heard in her whine. If he had not known better, he would have thought she was yearning for him.

 

A heartbeat later, his shock was as acute as it was intense: Sansa's arms went around his neck and pulled him down. Normally, he was strong enough to withstand her pulling, but she had caught him in an unguarded moment.

Another instant, and the little bird was kissing him eagerly.

What...!? What on earth...!?

Sandor had never been kissed like a man would be by his sweetheart, so he was paralysed and didn't know how to react. In contrast to that, Sansa was astonishingly determined: her hands slipped under his tunic and roamed over his suddenly feverish skin. His hair started to stand on end.

 

"Fuck, something is wrong, I've got to end this..."

Her hands started to tug on the laces of his breeches. Sandor's brain went blank. He had not had a woman for years, since well before the Battle of the Blackwater, and he had desired Sansa for so long - he'd have rather exposed himself to fire again than to abstain from having his way with her.

 

Sandor positioned himself adequatly in no time, and when he rubbed himself against her for the first time he felt the little bird was wet; she gasped... and tried to get closer. Never having learned much about forplay in the past with the whores he had occasionally had, he simply claimed her. For a split second, he thought there was a resistance, but then, it was gone and he was inside of her... and Sansa nearly went berserk, whined and raked her fingernails over his back.

Fuck, Sandor had never thought she'd be such a wild little minx. Oh, but that was something he could deal with, so he set to work energetically.

 

The next minutes were absolute bliss for him, because the little bird was chirping the sweetest songs for him and weeping against his collarbone in complete ecstasy.

Whoa, she felt good, and tight as well; her previous men, especially the Imp, had obviously been so small that they hadn't widened her properly for someone more massive like him. No wonder then that she moved along with him like she did, full of need and the wish to adapt - perhaps it was the first time Sansa felt real lust.

 

Finally, Sandor pulled out, came with a dark grunt and rolled away from her so as not to crush the little bird.

The next moment, Sansa was moving upwards, reached for his face... and kissed him fiercely. Before he could even gather a thought, her pink little tongue slithered into his mouth.

Sandor felt as if he had been hit by a club. Holy shit, was he just entering the seven heavens!?

A bit clumsily, Sandor tried to emulate Sansa's kisses, and that made her even hungrier. Slowly, it dawned on him that his little bird was still in higher spheres and still longing to fall into the stars. Well, Sandor had never quite learned how to pleasure a woman, but he had heard stories, of course, and he knew that many women liked to be pleasured with the mouth.

 

So he reached for Sansa's legs hesitantly and spread them, willing to try his very best... only to stop dead, frozen in shock.

"Little bird, I'm so sorry, I didn't notice you were having your moon blood!" he rasped and wanted to slap himself for being such a crude bastard.

At that, Sansa looked up and blushed.

"I... I thought you had... it was clear... This isn't my moon blood."

 

It took a moment or two to understand the underlying message. Then, Sandor's eyes widened even more, and his jaw sagged.

 

"But little bird... you said you know about these things! And you've been married to the Imp of Lannister, one of the greatest sinners of the flesh in Westeros. And you've been with Littlefucker, the depraved owner of many brothels! How can it be...? How...?"

He faltered.

 

At the same time, Sansa blushed.

"Tyrion didn't... consummate our marriage. And Lord Baelish - he was still biding his time and had further plans for me besides."

 

"I still don't understand," Sandor growled. "We tell me you knew about these things? Why tell me lies? What's worse - for once I didn't even sniff the truth! And... why me now, all of a sudden?"

 

"Oh, Sandor, I was telling you the truth!" Sansa hurried to explain herself. "Only what I knew was from... different contexts."

Her blush deepened.

"What do you mean, little bird? Did you just suck their cocks, or did you do it from behind, like shieldmates?" Sandor rasped, growing angry.

 

Sansa's shock at his words was obvious.

"No! I did no such things."

"Then what!? Speak - and no chirping this time."

 

The little bird breathed in and out, so difficult was it for her to speak.

"I'm a warg, Sandor."

"You're what?"

Sandor was puzzled. Surely, he had misheard, hadn't he? Slowly, old half-forgotten memories of children's stories came back to him.

"It's true. I'm a warg. A skinchanger. Robb must have been one as well, from everything that has been told about him and Greywind. Only at that time I didn't know. I had lost Lady and couldn't warg into her. It only changed in the Vale. There was a pack of wolves in the mountains... and suddenly, I somehow started to warg into one of them each night. And I saw other wolves... copulate. And tonight, my wolf-bitch was in heat, and I awoke just in time so as not to experience... as not to..."

 

Sandor rubbed his face, even if he didn't feel much on the burned side. Incredulity and a rising level of anger and bitterness were warring inside of him. Well, after all the undead monsters in the north he was more capable of believing her words than he would have been before the winter.

 

"Skinchanger, you say? Well, just be careful then you don't accidentally warg into a wight. Blimey, little bird, phew, that's strong stuff. So... you wanted me between your legs, because on waking up you were still aroused from being a wolf-bitch in heat, about to get fucked by the pack's alpha-male, is that the way of it?"

 

To his absolute surprise, a sobbing Sansa was hanging around his neck the next moment and was rubbing herself against his chest.

"Don't you ever think that, Sandor! Don't! Ever! I've wanted to be yours for so long. Even at the Eyrie, when I thought you dead. But then I found you - only you had turned into a Silent Brother. And then, you were allowed to come with me, and all I wanted to do was to be with you!"

 

There was bedlam inside of Sandor's mind and heart, and all he could do was to bark: "Stop chirping such bullshit, Sansa. You knew my cock was reacting to you, but you didn't allow me near."

 

The Little Bird looked hurt now, like she had done so often after the beatings in the Red Keep.

"Sandor, you must believe me, it had nothing to do with you. I'm still officially married to Tyrion, and I had to stay a maid to reach an annulment one day. Only tonight... my instincts were stronger. And not just my instincts. I love you Sandor."

 

He gaped at her like a carp. Obviously, he was developing some illness of the mind in this frosty, buggering cold region. Sansa was a warg and in love with him. Yes, sure. Most insane jape ever.  
Sandor shook his head like a dog would his fur to get rid of some water.

 

"What is it, Sandor? I... I thought you probably cared for me as well. I hoped..."

Sansa was weeping again.

Strangely enough, Sandor could only think sceptically: "She's in love with me? Can I kiss her then?"

Hesitantly, he put the theory to the test, bowed and kissed her - all the while ready to retreat, in case she'd be terrified and flinch from him.

 

Well, there was no need for this fear. Sansa's arms embraced him even more now, and she kissed him back so fervently that soon enough it was getting difficult for Sandor to breathe.

For a little eternity, they lay there, kissing, hugging; and when the little bird encouraged him forcefully he even fucked her a second time, carefully, carefully, since he didn't want to cause her any more pain.

 

At some point, sated Sansa fell asleep against his chest.

Sandor was drowsy himself, too, and wondered whether her hands and feet would start twitching any time soon, thus indicating that she was running with the wolves again.

"But be that as it may," he thought, because he couldn't change facts, "at least she's running with the right animals now, not with some arrogant lions. I'll never allow the Imp to claim her back - I'll rather die defending her from the little shit. No, she's mine now, and I've never liked to swear an oath, but I vow that I'll see to it that at some point her beloved Winterfell will be a strong, impressive northern kennel again."

 

He suddenly grinned until his half-burned mouth twitched.

"And one way or another I'll make sure that there will be lots of pups in the kennel, by the look of it. Brindled black and red, if necessary."

Sandor chuckled to himself, and - never having been a man of eloquent words - he was happy that there was nobody to whom he had to explain his sudden smugness and contentment.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Happy I just managed to finish this in time before an Internet abstinence. :-) Sorry, if it reads a bit as if it was written in a hurry.


End file.
